Heather Christena Schmidt

Today began another two weeks in hell. I know what you faithful blog followers are all thinking: don’t you think every week is a week in hell, B(itch)? Well, yes; but this is two weeks in an especially hellish hell. This is two weeks in “My Kid Is Better Than Yours Hell.”

It just so happens that all of the extra, summer activities I wanted to piggyback our homeschooling on this year landed during this week and next. So whereas during the regular school year activities are spread out; this two weeks every day is like a long, death march of kid-related sports and recreational activities stacked one on top of another. What does that mean? More activities and being out of my apartment cave means more exposure to assholes. And it seems like everyone is out to prove that their kid is better than everyone else’s.

Being summer, the coups de grâce of the assholes in my community are out in full force: the Summertime Over-Achieving Parents (hereafter referred to as SOAPs). After ten months of ditching parent-teacher conferences, shirking out on volunteer requirements, and generally ignoring their children’s’ school and otherwise needs, SOAPs now have exactly two months of summer vacation to prove to themselves that they are the best parents on the planet.

So on this, the first day of “My Kid Is Better Than Yours Hell,” two SOAPs at this evening’s group tennis lesson pitted themselves against each other to such a degree that a fight almost broke out. There were a number of reasons this was a recipe for disaster from the get-go.

Recipe for disaster, reason #1: Both SOAPs were clearly yuppies. They both drove these terribly pretentious-looking SUVs with movies constantly playing in the backseat so the kids will stay shut the fuck up. One talked on the phone for the first 20 minutes of class, only on his blue tooth – blowing niceties and canned, corporate euphemisms up the ass of whomever was on the other end of the line the entire time.

The point is that yuppies always have something to prove; their status as yuppies depends on it.

Recipe for disaster, reason #2: Both SOAPs were men.

Need I say anymore really? This little “my kid is better than yours” argument between the two guys was not really about their kids. No, no, faithful blog followers – it was totally about the size of their dicks. Had I a ruler in the backseat of my car, I would have been the hero of the day by just getting it out and settling the whole thing without the need for 40 minutes of arguing that came to near-blows (over who’s little bastard enjoyed Wimbledon more).

Recipe for disaster, reason #3: Both SOAPs’ daughters sucked terribly at tennis. Yes, I did say they sucked at tennis, which could ironically point the “my kid is better than yours” finger at me. But seriously, as a tennis player myself and someone that can simply observe what is going on, I can say with absolute certainty that those two little girls are just not into it. Neither one gives a fuck about tennis one iota. One kept letting the ball whiz past her head without even caring whether she swung or stood there. The other kept trying to just launch the ball over the fence, rather than actually learn the fundamentals.

This is two-fold. First, because their daughters suck, the SOAPs had to argue more to cover up that fact. Second, because their daughters don’t give a shit, it’s obvious the SOAPs put them in tennis just to prove something. What? Who knows; or cares for that matter?

Recipe for disaster, reason #4: The tennis pro utilizes parent pressure. I already knew this because it is our second group session with him. He’s actually pretty awesome. He always seems to roll out of bed about 15 minutes before the evening class; sometimes smelling like whiskey. He drives this crazy, old van that I imagine him saying “if this van’s a rockin’ don’t come a knockin’” about twenty or so years ago. The first time we met him, he opened the door of his van and a ton of tennis balls and cans came tumbling out – perhaps the most hilarious thing I have seen in a while. He’s very serious about the sport, though, and is an amazing player through all this nonsense, so we have decided to stick with him for the long term.

One of his teaching paradigms is parent pressure. He reminds the parents each week that if the kids are serious they should be practicing daily. It seems only right, actually – I mean, unless you live next to those very tennis courts, chances are your kid needs a ride to practice every day, making it the SOAPs’ responsibility. And today he inquired on who had their kids watch some of Wimbeldon. One of the SOAP daughters raised her hand, prompting the other SOAP to yell “why aren’t you raising your hand honey?” And here is where the fight ensued. These two doucheblazoons proceeded then to argue about who’s kid was more interested in watching Wimbeldon. “Well Katelynn was glued to the TV the entire time.” “Oh yeah, well we nicknamed Amanda ‘AK’ after Kerber.” It got worse and worse until finally the two SOAPs stood up with that yuppy, machismo, puffed chest “you want to go” look and – fortunately – class adjourned just at that very moment.

So today was “My Kid Is Better Than Yours Hell” because these two pompous, yuppy assholes subjected us all to their verbal pissing contest. Tomorrow is day 2 and I can see that we are off to a roaring start. On the docket is: swimming class, zoo animal science camp, homeschooling, and t-ball. I wonder what hellish things are in store for us through all of that?